


A matter of pride

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Fetish, Interspecies, Kinks, M/M, Multiple Partners, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:55:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26206021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: by EnideAragorn oversteps a line with Gimli and Legolas. Remember, they are not human.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf
Kudos: 6
Collections: Least Expected





	A matter of pride

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Feedback: Yes, please.

-Who does he think he is, anyway? Gimli kicked hard on the tree, making a big chunk of its thick bark fly away. He turned to Legolas with the apology half spoken, but for once the elf seemed not to have noticed the abuse of the tree. He stood stiff with rage, his arms crossed over his chest, and his long fingers, curled with the fury that burned inside, where gripping around his arms so hard that the white skin underneath must be glowing red.

-High king of Gondor, apparently, the elf answered, voice thick with raw emotions.

-Well, he is not, as yet! the dwarf almost brawled. And if he was, what's that to us? Are you not the Prince of Mirkwood in your own right? Am I not of Durins line? Our heritage goes back far beyond his, or any humans! The blood in our veins are just as nobel.

The night around them had fallen heavily on the plains of Rohan, making it all but impossible for any human to see the two of them. In the darkness, the differences between their two races were blurred, replaced by something than stretched so far back into history that it had lost its concept to humans. But the elfs remembered. And the bone and blood of dwarves were filled with it.

-And yet, he treats us as servants, the elf continued, his voice hot in the cold night wind. Not even with the respect that could be demanded between friends. He leads us on, not asking advice, and not taking any.

-He calls on you to stand guard at night, not even allowing you the pride of offering it yourself. He calls on me to light fires, collect wood and water!

-He will not satisfy even the lowest demands of pride. Silence fell between them. The stars above seemed distant indeed.

-So. It was the dwarf that spoke. He will satisfy us in other ways.

They ran, in the track of the orcs, the next day as they had done the day before and the day before that. Aragorn would not let any of the others take the lead, afraid that they would destroy the precious tracks despite the fact that the orcs had left a trail which was strait as a line. Not even Legolas, despite his sharp eyes, many times sharper than the humans, was allowed to run ahead and spy, although his light footfall left virtually no track at all.

Aragorn, did he even notice the silence and chilliness of his followers, thought nothing of it, concerned as he was with the pursuit of Merry and Pippin, and his decision to let Frodo and Sam go alone. If he notices, he merely though they were as tired and worn as he, having no energy left to speak.

When night came that third day, and Legolas urged them to continue, he ignored the elf, barely even hearing him. He sat down, tired and alone, leaving it to the dwarf to make a campfire and to the elf to keep watch, as every other night. Soon after they had eaten, Gimli rapped himself up in a blanket and went to sleep. Aragorn looked up only to see Legolas standing tall and without moving, looking out over the vast plains, a never failing watch.

He woke by the smell of a glowing ember, so close to his face that the heat it radiated made his face blush. Shock and fear grabbed him and he tried to sit up, but jerked back. His hands were tied over his head, and a blindfold was put over his eyes, preventing him to see anything. There was only one race in Middle Earth with a touch light enough to accomplish this without him waking up. An elf.

Still more shocked than frightened, his instincts made him kick out with his legs, but two firm rough hands caught them, pressed them down by the ankles with inhuman strength. His boots were drawn of and thrown away; he could here them bounce when they landed in the grass. Fast and skilfully, the short fingers drew leatherstraps around his feet, and then drove the straps and the poles deep into the hard earth.

The ember was removed, and the night suddenly seemed a lot colder. A gasp of surprise more than pain were drawn from his throat when something as fine as a needlepoint buried itself at the base of his throat. An elven daggerpoint. Slowly the dagger found its way down over his torso, carelessly cutting through his clothes, exposing his chest to the night. The dagger's edge was cold, almost gentle, but so sharp that he felt the thin line of blood forming behind it.

-What is this? he started, now that fear had got its first grip on him, but he never had time to finish the question. Soft lips were pressed against his with excessive force, his breath was sucked away, replaced, and a tong invaded his mouth, took everything and gave nothing. It was not an act of love but of violence. Another tong, coarse and followed by a dry beard, found its way up along the bloodline, tasting salt blood. And then they pulled away, leaving him panting for breath. Fear now held his mind in a hard grip, along with confusion, but his body was starting to react on its own.

-This is not a time for you to speak, human. The elven voice where soft, and so close that he could feel the heat on his cheek. Who are you, Strider, Ranger of the north? You think you are Aragorn, son of Arathon, but you have done nothing to prove this. Pride without accomplishment is foolish. Tonight, you will be tested, and afterwards the King or the Ranger will die, for both can not be at the same time. Tonight, humbleness will be learned and the price of pride will be paid.

-Untie me! You must...A flash of pain, like a sudden flame, leaped up his side like the lash of a wip.

-It is not for you to say what must be done or not! It is night, and remember this, will you ever be a king of Men, that even if your race drives all other races away, yours will only be the day, never the night. After nightfall, you'll light your fires and wait, and the world will belong to something else. Ancient rules have been broken by you, and ancient price will be paid.

The hand returned, long fingers caressed his chest, entangled themselves in the hair on his upper torso, and pulled gently, making him groan despite himself. Then they started to follow the small string of hair down his belly, but turned upwards again. Betrayed by his lack of control, his body was already covered in a fine layer of sweat, and when the slender fingers brushed over his nipples they stiffened, became ever so sensitive. And then, without warning, two of the fingers caught one nipple, pinched it with such force that his entire body jerked up to relieve the pain. He should have screamed, but again another mouth covered his, the coarse beard hard as sandpaper on his face, the force of lips and tong now so great that his lip started bleeding.

He felt, more than heard, the axe being drawn, but now the sweat was poring all over his body, fear and something else, dark and ancient. Heavy, unstoppable, the raw power of the axe's heavy blade tore the night wind to tatters. It tore up the uppermost layer of the skin of his right hip, slashing of the clothing that covered it. He inhaled sharply, but dared not exhale, because now the heavy blade was lying on his stomach, with the broad side against the skin and the edge easing its way down the now ragged lining of his pants. It drew over his groin like a whisper, but the reaction it caused made his entire body ache with need. The blade cut easily through the clothes, down the legs, leaving him naked but for the remnants of his tattered clothes wrapped around his ankles and wrists. When the air finally left his lounges, it was almost painful.

Then a slow hand started tracing its way up the inside of his leg, and the hot breath on his groin made his reaction even stronger, enhanced by the movement of the coarse tong on his chest, strong teeth biting, hard beard tearing over his hard, sensitive nipples. -Moan, if you must, human. Beg and plead. But do not try to utter commands. This is not a night for humans.

And then they were both gone, both bodies pulled away, investigating tongs and fingers gone, and a slight moan of his desperate body found its way through gritted teeth. The sounds of the night around him were low, or maybe it was his lack of vision that made even the sounds of the elf hearable. Maybe it was the throbbing, frightening force that was beginning to take control of his body that enhanced every sound, but now he heard the clothes falling to the ground, chainmail and leather, the soft clothing of elves, followed by the weapons, knife and axe, bow and arrows. A clear image of the two of them, standing naked in the high grass of the plains of Rohan and watching him, hit his mind like a blow, when he for the first time realised, that these, that he had considered friends, still he never would understand. Because there were something underlying their almost humanlike appearances, something deeply hidden perhaps, but still always present. Something that were not human.

Abruptly a naked body threw it self on top of him, a long, slender, muscular body, which touched the raw, painfilled places of his own body like silk. This kiss was wet and although hard, not abusive, the caressing hand gentle but firm, exploring, taking - and giving. Hair so fine it weaved a mist around them, a body of proportions to perfect to be human. Arousal washed over him like a great wave of heat, lifting him, erasing all thoughts, making his groin so hard, that release would almost be to painful. The hands entangled themselves in his hair, pulling it back, hard, harder, the body of silk turning into steel, pressing him down against the unyielding ground, grinding him against it, making his back raw with pain. Teeth, sharp as daggers edges, buried themselves in his flesh, in his neck, his chest, the cheeks of his butt, and the pain made him wheeze, but the pleasure, that dark and incomprehensible urge that ravished his body, made him wail, and this time nobody hindered him. He could have cried in an attempt to relieve the mixed emotions inside, his body and his mind turning against one another, not wanting or daring to try to understand the hidden message.

Trying to hold back the understanding got even more impossible when the next naked body was pressed against him, hard as rock. This body was all hardness taking everything, both pleasure and pain, the message more direct, more impossible to hold back. Searching hands, searching mouth, and he could not hide or deny them anything. And his own body, twisting and turning to please, to be near, to feel more of these ancient shadows. A flash of relieve came trough; _that I am bound and not free, able to give and yet say I am without guilt in this!_

He was pushed upright until he was laying on his side, shoulder and hip to the ground, and he did not try to stop it, the urges, the needs of his body not allowing it to be stopped. His breath was short and shallow, sweat was dripping of the length of his body, and then the other two pressed against him, one on each side, long, slender elven body behind him, short and hard dwarf before him, bodies stiff with craving for one another. Behind him, the body thrusted forward, slipping in between, coming inside of him; in front, coarse skin and beard tore against his sensitive skin, making everything dark and wet, hungry and ever so soft and hard.

He was thrusted back and forward, without control, without thoughts of anything but the peek which his body was rushing towards. It was a pain, an urge to great to resist, his body already bleeding from numerous places, a need that would wash him away if it was satisfied and make him mad if it was not. He might have screamed, of pleasure or pain, with his head hanging between his shoulders.

And then they withdrew, at the last second, leaving him in the torture of his own screaming body, wich he could not reach to satisfy himself, and which relief they had denied him. Letherstraps were cut of his feet and hands, but the blindfold was not removed, and he had no longer any thought of it. With haste, his hands were again tied behind his back, not allowing them to touch, but he was hauled to his knees.

-This is the time. The test, human. King or Ranger. Would you give, although you yourself are desperate for more? Or will you deny, thinking but of yourself?

-We will untie you, leaving you to your choice. Giving, or wanting.

The letherstraps were finally removed, but he remained were he was, panting, aching for relieve on his knees. He understood the test, and he understood the dark messages of his body. There were no such thing as being without guilt in something like this; to receive, you will ultimately have to give. For a King this was ever so true; for a King was expected to give up everything without thought of his own needs, however desperate.

His hands were shaking when he reached out for two of them, taking their hands, bringing them closer. Standing on his knees he gave, although his own body was shaking with need, and not until they were both satisfied did he pull back.

-The King has been proven. The price is paid.

And then they let him sink back into the grass, pain and pleasure, and he finally found his relief.


End file.
